Blinding Hot, Flashing Lights
by purrpickle
Summary: Rachel knows she should call her girlfriend, get herself out of there, turn her drunken state into something more acceptable. She knows she should turn away. Should give herself a chance to laugh about this later, only barely tinged with a shadow of guilt. Should be responsible. Should do the right thing. Instead, her chin drops in a disjointed nod. Pezberry. Samchel. Samchelpez.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I don't own Glee nor the characters within. Based off of a prompt from an anon; Samchelpez: Sam is a stripper in Kentucky, and Rachel finds him. She likes what she sees, and they wind up having sex... Until Rachel's girlfriend Santana calls. Thanks!

Contains Pezberry and Samchel, with eventual Samchelpez. So yes, this means it's an ongoing story.

* * *

The club is dark, dangerous. Too many flashing lights, too full drinks, and Rachel's just this side of drunk that means she's not as in control as she'd like to be.

Tina is laughing in her ear, Lauren and Kitty yelling out excited and free compliments at the stage and the mohawked man rolling his abs who looks almost too much like Puck. But he doesn't look too much like Puck that it's off-putting so Rachel finds herself tossing a ten on stage as well. He's not the best looking man she's seen yet, but he's definitely up there, and she finds herself nodding along with Tina's assertions that she'd gladly get up on him. It's all in good fun, she knows, so what's the harm?

And, suddenly, the mohawked man is off, the loud and somewhat annoying announcer saying something about White Chocolate. It sounds familiar, and Rachel chances a glance around the club, blinking her bleary eyes as she realizes maybe the reason why she's felt like she's been here before is because she _has_. That thought, however, is swept away as a tall, well-built blond jumps through the curtains.

He's devastatingly sexy, even more so than when they were teens, and Rachel can't look away.

"Is that - ?" Tina horse squeals in her ear, snatching up Rachel's hand.

Rachel wants to nod, thinks she does, but actually doesn't because her full attention is on a man she hasn't seen in years.

"Well, _damn_," Lauren looks over the rim of her glasses, lips curling up, "I went after the wrong footballer after all."

It's Kitty who's the first to throw a bill at him. "Sam! White Chocolate!" she yells loudly, waving, "Come 'ere!"

Those unforgettable lips part in a blinding smile as Sam dances his way over to them, no hint of the panic and surprise Rachel had seen those years ago as he tears his shirt away. His fingers flirt with his pants, and Rachel's gaze is drawn down as she realizes that this time Sam's dance won't end even after he's recognized them. She sits up, swallows, fingers suddenly sweaty around the bills still in her hand. To make up for the fact she doesn't know if she wants to smile or say something, she takes a long draught of her drink.

It's the lights and the dangerous atmosphere of the club, she tells herself.

Sam's eyes sparkle in the spotlight, the glitter glinting on his abs and arms and chest just accenting how much he's gotten even sexier. How much he's further perfected his ab rolls and pelvic thrusts. How he's perfected… Everything. With a whoop and a money shower courtesy of Tina and Lauren, he performs the same tearing away of his pants as his shirt had gone, and Rachel's eyes snap down.

He's...

Rachel pushes her hand out, practically vibrating as she waits for Sam to come to her. He's smoother about taking her money now, fingers slipping along hers as he leaves just enough to warrant a personal tucking into his barely-there underwear later in his routine. She knows that's what he's offering because he winks at her as he pulls back, throwing his arms up in the air and turning around, swinging his hips to give the group a perfect look at his ass.

"_Damn_," Kitty whisper-shouts, the four of them watching as he makes his way to the other side of the stage, "I don't remember him ever being _this_ - "

"It's been five years," Rachel cuts her off, not sure why she does, or why her voice is as husky or pointed as it is. This, seeing Sam, it's too overwhelming.

She knows she should call Santana, maybe so they can laugh about it or just make her feel better, to make the pounding of her heart due to someone else entirely. She should.

Her drink trembles in her hand, her tongue swiping her lips, a too audible gasp leaving her as he turns back. Advancing on the group, pausing to give his attention to Kitty and Lauren and Tina in turn, Rachel knows it's just to keep up appearances because as soon as he's reached Rachel, he kneels down on the stage, placing his hand on the table top to support himself as he leans forward. "Rachel..." he breathes into her ear, rough and slightly out of breath, the heat from his body branding into her skin even as he makes it seem like it's part of his routine - and who says it isn't? Who says it's just for Rachel herself, to make her shake and feel faint, to make her legs push together to try to get rid of the awareness erupting inside of her? But, "Rachel..." he finishes whispering, hand closing around hers to draw her hand to his hip and toned abs, sliding it down to the waistband of his thong, "La Quinta, room 18."

When he pulls back, making her fingers slip out of his underwear, stroking his burning and sweaty skin as her hand falls away, the twenty safely in his possession, Rachel finds herself staring dumbly at him. His eyes are dark, just as dangerous as the club is, and the corner of his lips quirk up.

He's waiting.

Tina's laughing in her ear again, practically draping herself across her shoulders, Lauren and Kitty yelling out suggestive comments again, but Sam keeps his eyes on hers as he goes back to the middle of the stage as the music starts to come to an end.

Rachel knows she should call her girlfriend, get herself out of there, turn her drunken state into something more acceptable.

Rachel knows she should turn away. Should give herself a chance to laugh about this later, only barely tinged with a shadow of guilt. Should be responsible. Should do the right thing...

Instead, her chin drops in a disjointed nod, eyes burning her message into Sam's because her body can't move enough to give him any clearer of an answer.

Sam's smile is blinding, hot, teasing in what is promises.

Knocking back the rest of her drink, Rachel runs her hand through her hair and tries to pretend that she hadn't just promised someone who wasn't her girlfriend a night of sex by dropping into the comfort of her friends' excited chatter. She laughs. She nods. She plays along. And as she does, she slowly, secretly, pulls her phone out of her purse. A heartbeat passes, and she presses down on the power button.

The club is dark, dangerous. Too many flashing lights, too full drinks, and Rachel's just this side of drunk that means she's not as in control as she'd like to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Rachel's barely there a second before Sam is swinging his door open.

"I didn't think you'd come," he doesn't say because he knows it'll send her away. Instead, he reaches out, hand hot on her hip as he draws her into his hotel room, barely allowing her any time before she's drawn up into his body. He's wearing a plain shirt and jeans, but she barely pays attention because her hands are on his shoulders and she's looking up at him. The door has closed behind her, and her attention is on how dark his green eyes have gotten.

"I promised," she whispers anyway, barely a parting of her lips.

Sam's fingers play along her hips. "You nodded."

"At least I'm here now." Swallowing her protest, Rachel stares at him. She's here. Why is she here?

"You are." Pulling her closer, barely a whisper, soft lips suddenly press against hers.

Passion strikes up, something new, _daring_, and Rachel's hands are digging into his shirt. Feeling his tongue stroke her upper lip, she opens her mouth. It's learned behavior, and before she can think about how it's so _wrong_, she's already melting into his arms, pressing against his hard body as his tongue plays with hers. His hair and neck is still tacky with sweat, and her fingers love it. _She _loves it.

His hand slides past her hip, pressing into her lower back. His touch is heavy and warm, and she has the stray thought that it's a lot like Santana's.

_Santana_. A sick feeling strikes up in her body.

Almost like he can feel it, Sam bends down, lips moving down, wet and strong down her neck. "Rachel…" he finally breathes, for the first time, and Rachel's knees legitimately weaken. Her fingers claw into his shoulders, and she gasps, leaning her head away so he can nibble along her tendon. It's not new, but it's different with his teeth, and she shakes, only staying up because of his grip on her waist and back.

"It's been so long," Sam speaks again, a grin plain in his voice as he bites along her collarbone, pushing the neckline of her blouse down.

Nodding, Rachel's fingers curl in the hair at the nape of his neck, her right hand sliding up to frame his ear as she pulls him back up, _needing _his mouth back on hers. She's still completely clothed, but she feels like she can't stand to be so too much longer. Finding the energy to drop her purse off to the side, she pushes closer to him, lips sliding along his nose before it finally drops to meet his mouth.

They're kissing. They're kissing, and it's _perfect_.

Sam's hot and heavy against her, and he's moving back, pulling her closer to the bed, urging her farther from the door. He's new, old, _exciting_, and with an upheaval of their bodies, Rachel suddenly finds herself splayed across him as he lies down on the bed. His head is nestled in the nearest pillow, his leg pushed between hers, and she realizes, as his tongue pushes into her mouth, that she's just as splayed out across him.

They fit perfectly together, his pelvis pushed close against her and so, so hot she's melting.

They fit perfectly together, and she hates herself. She can't even remember what she told her friends what she was doing.

Sam's chest is strong and firm and broad. Breathing in his breath as he pulls back to look at her, her eyes fall closed as she takes in how he feels pressed and excited in between her legs. Had she really done that? It's been so long since she'd been with Finn and…

_No_.

Forcing her brain away from that train of thought, Rachel meets his gaze. "Sam?"

"Rachel." Sliding his fingers along the waistline of her skirt, he dips down, finally moving farther back enough to find the zipper. Helping her out of the article of clothing, pushing it down as she arches up, barely waiting for her to kick it off of her feet before rolling them over so he's on top of her, pressing between her legs and hot against her lower stomach, Sam's fingers played with the bottom of her blouse. "Yeah?"

Lips sliding and playing along his, moving back enough to shimmy out of her blouse, Rachel's fingers worry at the bottom of his shirt. Clad in only her bra and underwear, she has the thought that Sam's wearing too much clothing.

He's wearing too much clothing because this? All of this? It's new and exciting and – and it's _wrong_.

Quickly divesting himself of his shirt and snapping the button of his jeans, Sam's rippling abs slide along Rachel's, his excited breathing and hungry expression too much of a burning brand to make Rachel move back. Instead, she rocks forward, hands pulling and picking at his jeans to help him take them off. He already looks impressive, just clad in his briefs, and she stares hungrily down at him. She hasn't been disappointed by Santana, she hurriedly thinks, reminding herself, because Santana's been _beyond _amazing and mind blowing.

So why?

So why _this_?

But Sam's tongue is suddenly in her mouth again. His hands are sliding up and down her back, caressing and cupping her muscles as he sits up, bangs tickling and sliding along her cheeks and neck. He's heat against her, heat and awareness and exciting. As his fingers unhook her bra, she's already squeezing and mesmerizing his chest and lower, pushing under his briefs. He moves to her underwear as the cups drop from her breasts, barely pausing in his plundering of her mouth as she wiggles out of her bra, depositing it to the side as suddenly, after seconds of beating decision, she pushes up and back as he strips her naked.

And he's naked a second later, and they're pressed together, heat and pleasure and newness and it's been _overdue_, this, having been in the cards since high school, and though it's wrong – it's so _wrong_ – she can't help but open herself to his mouth and his hands and his legs as she explores someone who _isn't _hers, who isn't the one she's been with for the past years. Sam _isn't _Santana. He's new, he's someone she's never been with before, and as they move together, as he fills her, she moves with him, around him. He takes over her whole attention, her whole being, and for a split-heartbreaking-second, he makes her forget about her life. Her reality.

Her girlfriend.

For a split-heartbreaking-second, as they come together, cresting, Rachel screaming into his neck as they explode so full, so _completely_, Sam makes her forget about Santana.

But he isn't, however, even with his arms around her as they come down, holding her close and gasping, shivering as they kiss, capable of making her forget the woman she loves after her orgasm ends.


End file.
